Volatile
by damnation soldier
Summary: When Gwen Tennyson lost her parents at the tender age of eight, she inadvertently sold her soul to avenge them as a knight of justice. [Gwevin]
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Hey guys. I am super frightened for those of you who'll be angry at me for not orderly prioritizing which chapters of which stories to write/publish correctly. Firsthand apologies for that, I'm just at a bit of a writer's block with most of my other stuff right now. I have the plot pretty much down, but the execution is just...off for me right now, and I can't help that. Now, I've been getting this load of ideas I can't resist not to try out, even though it's totally uncreative of me to use a plot scheme other than my own devices - I just can't stop writing. Obligatory keyboard smash; ashgajkdsadfsadh. And there you go, this is what happens. A lot of tweaking through the characters and how they fit for certain roles and all that. Forgive me for any of the imperfections you have a thing against for. The source material is (obviously, unless you're a hermit) Batman Begins. I will retain a lot of similar dialogue and events because that's how this could be most effective, but of course, there will be some changes depending on how well my own altercations/improvisations will work out. REVIEWS, PLEASE DO COME! Thank you. P.S. No Ken, because Bruce was an only child, the same will apply for Gwen.  
_

* * *

_Italic segments are either flashbacks, personal thoughts, important quotes/statements or emphasized words.  
_

* * *

**When Gwen Tennyson lost her parents at the tender age of eight, she inadvertently sold her soul to avenge them as a knight of justice. [Gwevin]**

* * *

_In a lovely garden, the two children played hide and seek. Lively green eyes scourged through the mass of foliage and trees around the property, before spotting her prize._

_She ducked, and joined him inside the willow's trunk. "You are so bad at this game."_

_She led him out from the tight spot, and Kevin dusted himself off. They were only a year apart, he was nine and she was eight._

_"No I'm not! I'm just too big to hide in small enclosed spaces," he excused himself defensively._

_Sure Kevin was awfully annoying, immature, and competitive (he hated losing and always provided reasoning for himself when he did) – yet he was her best friend in the whole world, other than her cousin Ben, of course._

_"Whatever helps you sleep better at night, Kev," she teases him childishly._

_He seems to take this in stride, and strictly objects. "So not the point."_

_"Then do tell me what's your point."_

_"I bet that I'll win this next round, as long as I do the searching," he urges enthusiastically._

_"Oh really? Then I hope you're lucky. Start counting, smart guy," she made a bolt then and Kevin peeled himself away to close his eyes in the opposite direction._

_He counted slowly._

_"Ten.. Nine.. Eight.."_

_Gwen tried climbing a tree, but found out its branch was not sturdy enough, even for only supporting someone as light as herself._

_"Seven.. Six.. Five.."_

_She went behind a bush but it was too narrow to cover her form completely._

_"Four.. Three.. Two.."_

_The girl finally found her perfect hiding post, an old unused well in deterioration. She crouches steadily behind its mouth and looms over to see the dark haired boy._

_"One.. Ready or not here I come!"_

_For a few short moments, he searches aimlessly for her. He tried all of the nearby sites they could have possibly thought of hiding at. He turns around, spotting a patch of red among green._

_"Gwen, I can see you."_

_She giggles. "Okay, you got me. I'm coming out now."_

_Kevin makes his way to her, and just as she was about to let him help her up – the boards beneath her gave out._

_She screams._

_"Gwen!"_

_She falls thirty something feet below, landing painfully on the probably ancient rubble at the bottom of the shaft. She groans, lifting her head up from her damp surroundings, the sun out of her reach._

_At her instruction, Kevin runs for help._

_She starts shivering when the squealing starts from under her. She was frozen, her back against the rocks, and looks in fear of what looms below the cracks of the ground._

_Bats, hundreds of them erupted from the black, suffocating her atmosphere. She screams louder._

* * *

The sky is a horrendous gray, much like everything else. The compound had little to no color in general. Of course, she should have expected a prison facility to be like this. Extremely unhygienic, filled with odors from rusting iron, wet mud, sweat and manure she would be glad to have not discovered.

The detained prisoners, ranging from young adults to the elderly came from different nationalities, some were dark skinned some were white but it didn't matter - they all have one thing in common, they had rotten backgrounds that tossed them into this brig.

She was no exception.

An oddly well formed line stretched out the patio as the inmates queued for their rations, away from the light drizzle. She honestly had no clue which meal of the day this was, for she could not tell time through the blur of gray and nothingness. All she knew is that her stomach is growling fiercely and she had to be fed soon.

She didn't react to the way the unappetizing slob was dumped unceremoniously onto her tray and merely kept a straight face as she was used to it. It tasted foul to be frank, but dying wasn't a choice she could afford to take. She had to live, even though she's pretty sure she's already went through hell and back.

A burly figure snatched the bowl from her tray unexpectedly. It was none other than Rojo. She was one of the few female prisoners, and had gotten a pretty impressive reputation for being a bully, even in a place like this. The woman was large and tall in stature, intimidating even to the opposite sex. She had short boy cropped hair and piercings that made her even tougher looking. No one dared to mess with her.

The girl knew she was being picked upon, a common occurrence really in these walls that happens rather often, and no one would stand up for her. But she doesn't need a hero. She'd get things done herself.

"What do we have here? Seconds for me? _Aw,_ you shouldn't have, Red."

The nicknaming and the overall baby talk did little to appease her. Her face was stoic, the empty tray gripped so tightly that her knuckles went white. "You'd be pretty stupid to not hand that back."

Much like the bystanders, Rojo looked surprised. Obviously no one has ever fought back to her oppression. Anger flashed through her eyes for a second, before she joked mockingly. "And you'd be pretty stupid _girlie_ to say that to my face. Now-"

"Apologize? Wait, are your feelings hurt, _Rosie?"_

A few people were awed at her response. Whispers and murmurs fell on her ears. _That's right, you people better spread the gossip like wildfire.._ _Wait, Rojo's real name's Rosie?_

Judging from how said person's face turned into different shades of red, before settling on a brick shade, the claim wasn't false either. The insolent little girl had actually snubbed her pride. She'd better be pissing her pants for the beat up that's going to come.

"Come on, Rosie, I know you got here because you're this crazy arsonist chick who burned your daddy's house. Said it was based on destructive juvenile behavior..."

This conversation was heading into an interesting direction, the tables have turned, the mighty becomes the fallen. The younger girl had spectators eying her curiously. _This loud-mouthed bitch better know how to run if she wants to keep her life. Oh well, we have funerals everyday anyways with the guys on death row.  
_

"But what you kept a secret from your friends is that you only did that because he spited you in the bedroom. Daddy dearest _fucked the hell_ out of your virgin ass. But I'm guessing you've got more experience in the last couple of years here with your buddies behind bars, so I should take back the _virgin_ part out of my comment. It really isn't appropriate, you must be an _expert_ at getting your asshole hot by now."

It was a low blow, a cheap insult shocking to most really, but the brunt of the trauma dropped onto the female brute. Blood rushed to her face. "You'll be fucking _dead_ when I'm through with you."

"Is that a promise?" She sweetly says, simultaneously sidestepping to dodge.

Rojo roared in blind rage, smashing the bowl of food onto their feet as the porcelain shattered into tiny pieces, and her target made a show, catching the much larger arm after the missed swing. The smaller girl's grip was astonishingly strong, like it belonged to someone else entirely different. Her now sarcastic, oddly musical voice boomed the declaration, "Oh, look! She even fights like a lady, cat claws and all!"

Rojo snatched away her limb, before violently kicking at her. The girl used the tray still held in her other hand as a makeshift shield. After a few unsuccessful but forceful kicks, the older prisoner charged at her after she threw the useless plate of metal aside.

Her blows were parried and blocked to her fury, then like a snake the girl lashed out, no longer on defense. She knocked her opponent across the jaw before kneeing her in the gut. She proved to be the superior fighter and wanting to end the match quickly by having her adversary taken care of on the most humiliating note possible, she hauled her weight like a sack of flour onto the food's station, spilling gruel everywhere.

And that was her mistake. A riot started faster than she could blink an eye.

A swarm of locked up criminals stormed onto her. Three tackled her onto the mud. _So much for staying clean._ A glorified parade of fists rained down on her body, bruising her. Not wanting the assault to continue a moment longer, she took action.

She decided to use the filth they were rolling on to her advantage, throwing it to a few of their faces, before she socked them right on their cheeks and noses. She might've heard a few bones cracking, saw red dripping onto the soil, and to her sickening pleasure, they weren't even _hers_.

She went so far as to getting back up, and falling into a solid stance, as the second wave of attackers jumped at her. There were about an additional fifteen of them getting involved she realized, her stare hardening indifferently. She was not a coward, and she didn't make a break for it. They seemed to take it as a jab to their dangerousness, and so began to senselessly devour her as if to prove themselves the best.

Though it was an unfair battle that commenced in the caged brawl, it was becoming clear that the lithe girl was a one-woman army, decking men around far more than they've accomplished to hurt her.

She trashed around when the boys each took an arm or a leg and lifted, trying to render her helpless dangling in the air, but she kicked them hard and freed herself to launch high above their heads. She landed on one guy, knocking him out, before proceeding to do the same to a couple more of them.

Before she could merrily continue this savage dance of brutally beating the sorry asses of the delinquents around her, the warden's whistle blew, the high pitched sound deafening their ears.

Instantly the guards, whom were earlier absent since they were patrolling the perimeters, were alerted and dashed to arrive on the scene, breaking up the fight instantly, several obnoxious warning shots piercing the air.

Two of them grabbed her and had her kneeling with her arms bent acutely to prevent retaliation, their hold almost inescapable.

"Solitary!" The guard at the center of the mess proclaimed and none rebelled.

"But why?" The bound girl's question came indignantly.

"For protection," one guard at her left answers gruffly.

"I don't need any protection," she protested, obviously pissed, her expression is that of a wild animal wanting to bite at her captor.

He glared at her threateningly, pointing to the pile of unconscious prisoners' bodies scattered around.

"Protection for them," his comrade at her right corrected.

* * *

She was dragged and thrown into a cellar.

The door slams behind her as soon as she lands on her rear. Even though she was a woman, those guards had no problem manhandling her. Though probably the rougher display was well deserved after what she pulled out on the open field. Funny, they sort of seemed nervous earlier when they went through the vacant hallways in queer silence. _It's not like I'm going to gouge their eyes out or something. Chill._

Something rustles, footsteps, and she knew someone else was here. She turned, and surely there was another person in the small room with her.

"I often wonder at the riches found in such dark places."

A mysterious man stood at the far corner, buried in the shadows. His voice is rich, laced with an accent, and well aged.

Intrigued, she raises an eyebrow questioningly. Her tone held an air of curiosity. "I thought the point of solitary confinement was you know, the part where it's solitary."

Before she asks for him to reveal himself, he steps into the light. As she suspected, he was rather old, late forties with full white hair and a light parlor, but in top shape indeed, his build powerful and his posture an impeccable example. He was dressed in a well-cut suit ensemble, certainly this cramped jail cell isn't the right place for such a poised man like him to be in.

"These people, these authorities have mistaken you as a criminal Ms. Tennyson."

She stiffens at the mention of her name, angling her head at him, slight trepidation melding in her voice. "Who are you?"

No one knew who she was. She made sure they wouldn't find out about her identity, having blended in so spectacularly well. No one even suspected her, she looked unrecognizable with grime and dirt caked on her hair and skin. Her nails were bitten, utterly repulsing, and her scent was tangy too for extra measures. She was dressed in the ugliest rags, that of a prisoner's wear.

She was no longer the radiant, beautiful Gwendolyn. But a prisoner within the gates of pain.

"My name is Hexlord Desmond, but I speak for Spellbinder. Have you heard of him?"

She reluctantly answers. "I've heard the legends.. Master warrior, international mercenary, feared by all the underworld. Some even swear he's immortal."

The praise of a rumor indulges him. Hex nods, pleased with how respectfully the young woman refers to the master, his mouth no longer perched in its grim line, but instead a small smile. "Spellbinder uses theatricality and deception as powerful weapons."

Hex approaches her, and once close, his strange violet eyes connecting paths with hers. "You are not past his notice."

Why would a fearsome conqueror bother looking twice in her direction? Let alone take a rooted interest? She had no clue why he of all people would view her as something special. "And I think you shouldn't be. From what I've seen you have a penchant for stirring up trouble. Even if it made good practice."

Her thoughts spiked and sent her sights elsewhere as she turned away from him. He continued to speak. "You are not here by choice, young lady. This is not solace, this is the trap you designed yourself because you don't know where you want to be."

"I'll manage," she tells him disinterestedly.

Hex shakes his head. "You don't belong here. You are lost."

"And _what_ exactly do you have to offer?" She snapped, already knowing a preposition was coming. Hex grins, the girl was a spirited, clever thing.

"A second chance. Strength. Penance. Closure."

She had to admit, temptations flooded through her mind. It was everything she could have ever desired, everything she needed to be whole. Unbroken.

"Spellbinder and his Flame Keeper's Circle wants those who are capable of upholding our code."

She scoffed rudely, her emotion of disbelief. "Code? Aren't you people criminals?"

Hex fiddles with his words, finally finding a way to phrase it, gesturing to the distant noise of prisoners outside. Apparently at every hour, a new debacle ensues. _I shouldn't be missing all the fun_, Gwen rolled her eyes.

"Criminals are simply people others think deserve to be put in detention."

She gets it. "Right."

He motions for her to listen attentively. "This world is controlled by tyrants and the corrupt."

_Tell me about it,_ she huffed, exasperated. "Our code respects the natural order, so that the earth will not be tainted by demons."

A guard raps on the door, the knock signaling the guest that his time was up.

Gwen was silent. Hex pulls a flower out of his trouser pocket, its petals a bright, electric shade of blue. "This is a rare flower, a double bloomed poppy." He explains. "Tomorrow you will be released," he drops this bomb on her, and immediately her ears perk up.

He stands near her, quite a bit taller than the young woman in comparison. He speaks with conviction. "If you believe in our cause, do as I say. Pick one of them. If you can carry it to the highest of the mountains, you may find what you're looking for."

"And what am I looking for?" She challenged, because his cryptic invitation wasn't enough. She needed security, a promised worth.

Hex meets her form with a spark in his eyes.

"Purpose," he answers simply, before leaving her alone once more.

* * *

_It's quiet. Unnaturally so. She's so tired, her tears spent from the crying._

_"Gwen?"_

_She looks up. Her father is there, having lowered himself down to retrieve her by a rope. Frank's face is warm, concerned._

_She lets him take her into his arms, and didn't say a word._

_A few minutes later, he carried her into the house. It was a grand home, a manor inherited from the renaissance era. Her mother is at their side. Lily caresses her daughter's crimson mane lovingly._

_Addressing her husband, she asks, "Honey, should I call an ambulance?"_

_"No," Frank replies confidently. "We have everything we need here. I'll take her for X-rays later."_

_"Alright," Lily trusted his judgment, gave an affectionate peck on his cheek, before ruffling her child's hair gently again, as the father daughter pair ascended the stairs._

_Kevin, who's been staring at a tearful Gwen the whole time, lets them pass too with a sad frown on his face._

* * *

_Gwen is told Kevin was ushered to go home. No doubt her mother was the one who did the ushering. For once, she wasn't upset over it, she didn't want to see anyone at all._

_Her arm was in a thick woven sling, and she sits on her bed, staring at empty space. Ben is sitting next to her, her parents must've told him she needed some company, even though for the past hour she's done nothing but disregarded his presence as if he were a ghost._

_She didn't mean to be so cold, but she felt horrible. Scared. Haunted._

_Her vision flashed._

_She was back at the well, numerous bats sailing through her._

_She pants, her eyes sealed shut, her breathing ragged. Realizing his cousin was freaking out, Ben throws his comic book onto the carpet and tries to get her to calm down._

_His hands are automatically pressing on her shoulders, firmly but comfortingly._

_"You took quite a fall, didn't you?" He asks regretfully.  
_

_She nods mutely, grimacing almost._

_"And why do we fall, Gwenny?" He reaches forward to wipe away the stray tear cascading down her cheek._

_"So that we might better learn to pick ourselves up," he shares.  
_

_Brightening, Gwen hugs him._


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Hello again. I think I'm really, really into this AU idea, and that's probably why it's not that hard to keep on writing. The ideas excessively flows through me.. I can't believe I've already imagined this up to the climax point or even further. Oh man, it does suck that I only have so little time to do what I enjoy.. Meaning, I can't update lightning fast (unless the duration of one day magically gets expanded to forty hours instead of twenty-four). Enough with my chit chat. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter, and when you do, I beg of you to leave a review on your way out. I would appreciate it very much. Thanks._

* * *

_Italic segments are either flashbacks, personal thoughts, important quotes/statements or emphasized words._

* * *

**When Gwen Tennyson lost her parents at the tender age of eight, she inadvertently sold her soul to avenge them as a knight of justice. [Gwevin]**

* * *

Hex was true to his word. Precisely at the crack of dawn she was released from the dungeons, given pardon for her supposedly alleged crimes. She left in slightly thicker rags, having stolen an outdated jacket from the public laundry and a scarf no one would surely miss.

It was winter and the landscape around her was rather bare, nothing but white below the blue skies. It would have gotten boring rather fast if she didn't have some sort of goal in her journey. Luckily she did have one in mind.

It was easy to find the blue poppy. There was a small crater by the valleys filled with them blooming even in the frosty weather. She imagined, if the seasons were any different, there might've been a nice meadow of them instead.

Without further contemplation, she picked one out.

She studied the flower's color in the glow of the cold sunshine, before she shook her head, stuffed it in her breast pocket and began her long trek ascending the mountain slopes.

After approximately four hours, it was approaching midday, she recognized she felt exhausted. Her leg muscles were spent from climbing, her fingertips aching dully from the icy air.

Not to mention, on a side note, she was rather famished.

Nearing by a very small village, she saw opportunity and made a detour, hoping she might find her necessities in exchange for a modest cost, maybe a short term field work or the sort. She wandered through the streets, it was quickly becoming empty since the locals decisively hid themselves in their huts at top speed with her now in close proximity.

She was a little stupefied. Sure her appearance did affect how the villagers behaved, but it was a bit dramatic. She made a note to trade her garbs for a better wager to no longer pose as an outlaw. She hopelessly navigated through the log houses, before she caught a young child, a boy staring her way. She went to him.

"No one will help you," he points to the flower poking out of her chest.

_"Oh,"_ that's all she lets out. So even outsiders knew of the Flame Keeper's Circle code of conduct.

An old man hurriedly comes to the child's side, protectively towering over the youth. She thought it made sense to ask him.

"I _need_ food," she pleaded.

He seems to pity her for a moment, but surely aiding a woman such as herself would only put him in harm's way. He could not be of service. "Then turn back," he advised.

She spares him a look underlined with disappointment, shrugs hopelessly before carrying on.

* * *

Driving her body through the snow was the worst part. It came up to her knees at times, making her steps sorely heavy. The temperature makes her bones sting.

Despite her state of lethargy, Gwen continued walking. Her progress was devoid of breaks. Even if she needed to catch her breath, she never stops. She was afraid if she did award herself time to recuperate, she'd eventually give in to the struggle.

Her stubbornness paid off.

She clears of a vast ridge, and presses the scarf to onto her face for the icy wind was prickling like knives at the peak.

She sees the place, a grand monastery perched on the jagged rock.

* * *

Continuing wasn't as hard now. In only ten minutes, she was riding through the steps of the fortress. The double doors were broad and grand. She uncoiled her frozen hand from the bundle of fabric. Forming a tense fist, she pounds against the wood. The sound echoed through the silence.

She waited. Nothing came.

Her forehead lowers and touches the door, her shoulders quaking from a mixture of anger and resentment. Her pounding accelerates to a form of hysteria.

Suddenly a grinding noise comes from within. She stops, straightening her back taut.

As if on cue, the doors open leading to darkness.

She steps inside. The room she came upon was mainly a wooden hall with a low ceiling. The lighting was primal at best, the space bathed in the flickering fire of oil lamps posted on adjacent stone columns.

Her hands trembling, she tugged at the scarf wrapped around her mouth to reveal herself. It was the wise thing to do in the presence of the unknown.

At the far end of the hall stood a lowly raised platform. A throne of some sort resided there, and it was occupied by a figure of Asian descent dressed in dark formal robes.

Gwen moves ruggedly towards him, bowing slightly as she was mindful of her manners. She calls hoarsely, "Spellbinder?"

In response, a group of armed warriors emerged from the shadows. They were of various races, trained in the art of stealth and combat no doubt as they moved in unison, organized from head to toe, clad in black and wielding cold weapons such as spears, bows and swords. These items were drawn all too specifically in her direction.

Stunned, she didn't dare breathe, let alone move.

Before they could begin their onslaught, Hex appears, apparently leaning on a nearby pillar.

"Wait," he commands, one hand gesturing the order. The warriors automatically hold.

She relaxes internally. Reaching into her layers, she took out the still intact blue poppy, holding it out to him shakily.

At his seat, Spellbinder starts to speak in a foreign language she could not comprehend. Hex translates on account of his master to communicate with her.

_"Fear_ has been a beacon of light to you. It guided you in whatever paths you've walked. But now you _must_ conquer your fear, and we will help you. As a token of goodwill, after you've completed your training, you will renounce the cities of man. You will live in solitude. You will be a member of the Flame Keeper's Circle. And most importantly, you will be _without_ fear."

Gwen assumed it was a fair negotiation. She came here for something, and ridding herself of fear wasn't something she could do by herself. She looks at the wasted years she's spent going through the globe on _unconventional_ methods, feeling it didn't achieve what she yearned for.

Nightmares of the past still plagued her. Blood, or at least an outrageous amount of it still made her queasy. She was still weak.

She needed the initiation into this cult. She needed a teacher. She needed instructions. She _will_ have all of them.

Hex takes the flower she handed out to him, considers its delicate blue petals. He slips it into the buttonhole of his hem by the short stem. Then he turns to her, "Are you ready to begin?"

The young woman appropriately gaze hazily at the man, her body quivering in fatigue. _"Ready?_ I can barely-"

She was cut off. At that moment, Hex kicks her harshly. Gwen tumbles to the floor, gasping and coughing. The older male looms over her, an expression of ire on his face. _"Stand?"_ The venomous glare from her green eyes does not unnerve him. He states justly, "Death does _not_ wait for you to be ready."

She crawls onto her elbows. Without the slightest heed whatsoever, Hex deliberately strikes her in the ribs, knocking the wind out of her to her dismay. He trails on to speak, apparently not done teaching her the very much obvious lesson; that slacking off or a little rest wasn't tolerated. She had to be vigilant.

His baritone resonated gracefully, "Death is not considerate or fair. And _make_ no mistake, today death is your opponent."

_Not just today. It's been forever._ Gwen hardens then, her resolve building. Hex spins, whips his leg in a fearsome roundhouse kick aimed straight at her neck. Though being in a position of disadvantage, she acted on instinct. She blocked his foot with an oblique sweep of her arm. Leaping out of the way, her stare pierces into him, eyes blazing in ferocity. Hex smiles.

Gathering the remnants of her energy, Gwen stands to her feet, her initiative absolute. In precaution, she rises into a martial stance. The pause was over. Hex strikes, faster and faster each time. She blocks and parries and dodges the best she can, forcing her body through the fray to deliver a sequence of fluid, skilled movements as rigidly fueled attacks.

Hex somehow manages enough concentration to keep talking as well as avoiding the majority of her blows. "Tiger Crane.. Ju Jitsu.."

She ignores him. The hint of a smile is there in his comment. "Skilled," he praises before proclaiming squarely, "But this is not a dance."

With the remark, he grapples her by the upper body. It gets messy when she attempts to break free though she was ultimately unsuccessful. The larger man outmatched her, he did not just overpower her in size but in technique as well.

She knew the fight would be over soon, and not in her favor. The prediction proved to be accurate.

"Facing death you learn the truth."

She was helpless when Hex's head smashed her cheek.

"That you are _weak."_

He strikes her with a hook kick at her midsection. Somehow he gets around her to pull a hefty elbow twist, making her back arch in pain. The sound of cartilage snapping is heard and she winces.

"You are _alone."_

He abruptly lets go, throwing her forward before closing the distance between them. Disoriented, it was effortless for Hex to slam her chin, sending her down hard. She briefly cried out when her head hit the ground.

"And you are _afraid."_

Hex crouches at his fallen pupil's side. He looks into her glazed eyes somewhat curiously, pronouncing, "But not of me."

Gwen breathes heavily, her vision starting to blur.

Hex produces the flower and rests it in her open palm, enclosing her hand around it and squeezed. Presently his gentleness was uncalled for, he had already beaten her senseless to begin with. He whispers in her ear, "Tell us Ms. Tennyson.. _What_ do you fear?"

Everything fades to black.

* * *

_She throws off the duvet to pool on her lap. Her skin is covered with a sheen coating of sweat. Sunlight seeps through the curtains, she reveled its warmth for a moment before her door creaks and her attention follows it._

_Her father is there, wearing a housecoat over his pajamas. He looks refreshed, perhaps he's already had his morning cup of coffee._

_"The bats again?" He asks softly. His daughter's awful experience happened over two weeks ago, but she was still overwhelmingly consumed by the trauma._

_She nods, and he makes his way over to sit on the foot of her bed._

_"Do you know why they attacked you?" Frank asks._

_"No," she says. He humors her, but she couldn't help but to wonder if his answer was true. "Because they're afraid of you."_

_"Afraid of me?" She only half believes him._

_Frank tries to explain reasonably. "Well you're a lot bigger than a bat aren't you, sweetheart? All creatures feel fear."_

_"Even the scary ones?" The question comes out very innocently, with a trace of childlike excitement._

_"Especially the scary ones," he assures her with a warm smile. He seems to think briefly before he switches into an eager, younger facial expression. "Here, let me show you something."_

_Certainly, the young girl wanted to see. Frank pulls out a medium sized velvet jewelry box. He opens the case, showing off a classic pearl necklace. _

_"It's for your mother," he winks, confirming what his daughter already well know._

_She grins, already in a better mood for the day._

* * *

_Gwen watches her city glide past from the windows of the elevated train. The sun was setting, the skies alike to a canvas painted with hues of pink, orange and light blue._

_Her parents sat side by side, comfortably pressed together. Lily stroked her pearls, smiling shyly at Frank. All in all, it was a pleasant sight for the young child._

_"Did you build this train, Dad?" She asked._

_"Yes. But our ancestors, your great-grandfather was the first to build trains in Bellwood. The city has been good to our family, the business is prosperous and it was time to give something back."_

_She stares earnestly in admiration at her father._

_"A public transportation for the whole city. It's economical so that everyone can unite even for short train rides."_

_Frank pinches her cheek and Gwen giggles. He nudges her to turn around as he tapped on the glass, pointing to an impressive looking skyscraper amongst other buildings._

_"And at the center, we have Tennyson Tower."_

* * *

_The Bellwood House of Art was packed. Showing on stage was a play for Witch-like Creatures cavort._

_Gwen was seated between both of her parents. Dominant dark birds on wires fly and flap on the course of the early performance number._

_She tried to tentatively help herself through watching the play, but no matter how hard she prayed, the nervousness was overtaking her in a matter of minutes._

_Her hands curl around her moss green dress. The violent motions of the birds continued, and she can't help but to be fixated._

_It was happening all over again. Bats were swarming around her back in the well. Her breath caught in her throat, and she started to panic, gulping as much oxygen as she could. Her pupils wildly bounced as she searched desperately for an exit._

_Finding she could not take it any longer, she urgently latches onto her father's sleeve, begging pathetically, "Can we go?" _

_Frank looks confused for a moment, before his daughter's wide green eyes gets the best of him. He nods, before whispering something to his wife and she agrees, though uncertainly. They shuffle out of the row, having been in the middle, with Frank and Lily profusely apologizing for creating small disturbances. _

_The three Tennysons got out from a side exit which was more of a back alley than anything. They had already bundled up in their outerwear and other miscellaneous, such as coats and gloves for all, plus a knitted beret in the case of Gwen for the chilly night._

_Lily bends down to her daughter's level. She refused to meet her mother's eyes. "Honey, what's wrong?"_

_Frank answers in place of Gwen to the latter's surprise. "She's fine."_

_Lily gives her husband an accusing stare, he gives her a 'please accept this' look. She understands then, resigning herself to the sensitive situation, feeling somewhat guilty for not having picked up on it as quick as her husband did. He was always the one equipped with better empathy._

_They all knew it was a lie, but didn't argue on it when Frank tells them, "I just needed some air. A little bit of opera goes a long way, right, Gwen?" _

_ She glances up to her dad. He winks, and she hopes he knows how grateful she is. He does._

_"Come on, girls." He ushers his family, both arms lovingly enveloping the two most important ladies in his life. They head straight for the main boulevard. _

_Long before they come to the mouth of the alley, a man steers into their route, having just appeared from the shadows. He holds a gun._

_Gwen pales._

_The man seems to be partially anxious himself, shifting from toe to toe. He had streaks of white in his gray hair and deranged eyes. The pistol at his hand is pointed at them._

_"Wallet, jewelry! Fast!" He barks._

_Frank unlike his wife and daughter who were mute, was able to form words, in an impossibly calm tone even. "That's fine, just take it easy."_

_Frank hands Gwen his coat, then takes out his wallet. The man jolts, the gun raised exclusively to the male Tennyson. The thrust of the weapon towards him makes his daughter watch in torn distress.  
_

_"Here you go," the wallet is handed over to the man, he takes it but fumbles. He drops it. The thief looked between the wallet and the man who gave it, an unreadable emotion on his face. Only Frank sees through him. He was scared._

_"It's fine, it's fine," Frank says, wanting to end this confrontation peacefully. The man crouches to take the item, his eyes never leaving the standing man who tells him, "Just take it and go."_

_The man keeps the wallet, before his focus goes to Lily, specifically to the pearls decorating her neck._

_"I said jewelry!" He repeats._

_Lily starts to pull out her rings, but impatient the man aims for her. Frank steps in front of his wife to protect her._

_"Hey, just-" _

_The gun went off, the heart stopping sound of the shot making Gwen flinch. _

_Frank peers down to his shirt, stained with blood leaking from the bullet embedded in his chest. His sad eyes trail back to the man, before he sways and crumples._

_Gwen could not think let alone do anything, and Lily screams for her. The man reaches for the mother, her jewelry in particular, but she kept on screaming for her husband._

_"Frank! Frank!"_

_"Give me the damn-"_

_But the man's demands were unmet as Lily wretchedly pulls at her husband's dying body. The man pulls the trigger for the second time then yanks at her necklace. Its thread breaks, and bone white pearls pours all over the asphalt. Some of them are bloody._

_The shooter stands, observing. His gaze flickers over to the redhead girl whose stare is aghast. He could not bear it. He runs, and was gone within seconds._

_Gwen drops to her knees, to the bodies of her parents. Her mother is already dead, her eyes vacant. Her father lasted a bit longer, but she could not savor any of it, how could she?_

_The tears do not come._

_Frank's brown eyes are dim. "It's okay, Gwen. It's okay."_

_Her lips are parted, nothing but small whisks of air escaping, she couldn't answer him. He nods at her, exhales, and that was it._

_The pair lay unmoving, their daughter shivering between them. _

* * *

_Two hours felt like two days to her. _

_Outside the room it was chaos. The police station was hectic with buzz as reporters and cops went around the place like bees for the crime of the decade._

_She's in a leather chair within a private office belonging to the Captain. She's bewildered by the present commotion, still in shock from the one prior. Sitting on her lap, clutched tightly in her hands was her father's overcoat._

_"Is that your father's?" Unbeknownst to her, someone had entered. It was a cop about the same age as her father, in his early thirties. She recognized him, tall with black hair, pale skin, strong facial structures and she knew, having met him multiple times at auctions and saw him on other occasions. _

_It was Kevin's father. He stands over her, before he crouches, bending on his knees, reaching for the coat._

_Gwen huddles over it, not wanting to let go._

_"It's okay," he reassures._

_His voice prompts her to trust him. Devin takes the coat and drapes it gently on her shoulders. She can tell he remembers her as a friend of his son's. _

_Another cop, with dusty gray hair barged in. Gwen saw his badge, and his tag. It read Morgg Smith. Correction, Captain Morgg Smith._

_The Captain was louder than Devin, disconcerting her a bit. He boomed, "Levin! You gotta stick your nose into everything!"_

_Devin addresses his boss in subtle irritation who then glares at him. "Out of my sight, officer."_

_Devin nods apologetically at Gwen, whose eyes said it all. She wanted him to stay. He leaves. The Captain turns to her, his eyes twinkling from the mirth of a job well done. _

_"Good news.. we got him, sweetie."_

_Gwen looks up at him, dazed and faithless._

* * *

___The snowflakes slowly gravitated down upon the two open graves at the manor's outdoors._

_"Frank Tennyson, he was such a good man.. An amazing entrepreneur too.."_

_"Oh, how I would miss Natalie.. She was such a good friend, so kind to everyone.."_

_"They left behind Gwendolyn, that poor girl. Who would raise her now?"_

_Gwen tries to block out the murmurings of bystanders in the wake of the funeral. She hated hearing whatever they had to say. This is her loss. Hers and hers alone. Those people should just stop pretending like they've lost them the way she did, because they didn't.  
_

_Her parents being six feet under doesn't affect them the way it did her. They won't be spending their lives looking over their shoulder burdened with the 'what if's'. They won't get to see a backyard through their balcony where the corpses of the most important people of their lives are buried, feeling like they've missed everything just because their two guardian angels weren't there with them along the road. But she will._

_They don't understand. And she never expected them, no, wanted them to._

_Mourners disperse, guided by a team of security guards dispatched from Tennyson Tech._

_Her cousin stands with her. A man with blue eyes and combed back white blond hair approaches the female orphan. His name was Will Harangue, he was one of her father's top notch employees of higher position._

_He motions to Maya, a woman who lingers close to them, she's their newly assigned nanny for the next few years or so until they can take care of themselves no problem. "You're in excellent hands here, Gwendolyn."_

_He doesn't refer to Ben, probably because of that incident with the punch bowl at that party last New Year's Eve. The brunet doesn't mind not being mentioned, whistling casually. "And we're minding the empire. When you're all grown up, it'll be waiting."_

_Gwen looks blankly at Harangue._

* * *

_She said goodbye to a lot of people that day, and she meant it. She wanted them to go._

_Except for one._

_The mourners file towards the gates like ants scattering. She sees him, walking closely behind his mother and father who came to pay their respects._

_As if sensing he was being watched, Kevin cranes his neck back. He spots her looking through her high window._

_He waves, smiling._

_She returns the wave numbly, but is unable to return the smile._

* * *

_It's almost eight at night, but she doesn't feel like getting out from the black dress she's worn all afternoon.  
_

_In fact she doesn't feel like doing anything at all._

_An hour ago Maya left the silver tray of dinner on her bedroom desk. The caretaker had done so because the girl didn't want to go downstairs. Even with the food brought to her, Gwen hasn't as much touched them and had instead left them out to dry._

_Ben didn't push her buttons. He sensibly offered her to eat precisely once, before leaving her to her devices which had been lying beneath her blankets but not for the objective of sleep like one would normally pursue while in the position. _

_To the contrary, though Gwen may have been physically still, her mind was anything but. She could not stop thinking. _

_She lost it, muttering aloud from her cocoon of bedsheets, "It's my fault."_

_"What?" Ben stopped in his tracks, his one-man game of monopoly interrupted. He heard her just fine, but he just wished she hadn't said such a thing. A part of him wanted her to clarify what she meant, but it would lead to no good, yet that's exactly what she did next.  
_

_"If I hadn't gotten scared and whined, we wouldn't have left the theater early or used a side exit, and none of this would have happened - they, they would still be here."_

_The boy jumps up to sit cross legged on the mattress, leaving his board game unattended. It was her fault and she was to blame, but apparently Ben thought otherwise, expressing himself vehemently. "No, no. Oh god, no. Gwen, believe me when I say this is not your fault. It's that man's. It's his and his alone. Are we clear?"_

_She nods reluctantly._

_It doesn't occur to Ben that she never technically answered yes. _


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: This is so addicting. Damn it, there goes my homework. Geez, I just love working with this cast. I'm doing this really fangirly thing where I search for pictures to match which celebrity actor or actress should portray each of the characters in here. I'm thinking Elena Satine as Gwen, Ben Barnes as Kevin, and Harry Lloyd as Ben so far. I'll keep the other (next) featured characters coming in as soon as I find suitable live action picks for them. Now, I'm not a review monster, but I am seriously in need of some love here. So if you'd mind?  
_

* * *

_Italic segments are either flashbacks, personal thoughts, important quotes/statements or emphasized words._

* * *

**When Gwen Tennyson lost her parents at the tender age of eight, she inadvertently sold her soul to avenge them as a knight of justice. [Gwevin]**

* * *

After five days, she gets what she's doing here. It was like school, but rather than just for the mind and body, it was for her spirit as well.

Hex is to be her teacher, though formal and regal, he wasn't at all obsolete. He knew how to push her to her limits, force her to improve.

In the wee hours of the morning, Gwen would do six laps around the complex with him monitoring her from above. She ate nothing for the day with the exception of a loaf of bread.

She would train with a squad team in weapons and hand-to-hand combat until four. She'd then go over to physical fitness and knowledge personally with Hex up to eight before going through tea and meditation sessions.

At several instances, sometimes one or two of these specified activities would be replaced by something to Hex's liking. A day hiking outdoors for example, or a trip into the monastery's underground prison chamber.

And finally, long well into the night, she would be permitted to return to her quarters, retire to sleep and repeat the cycle all over again.

It was tiring, she's never been in this extreme sort of camp before, but it felt good, healthy even. Her dreams, when she had them, were emptied of their typical havoc, and she treasured those times she woke up with her thoughts serene.

She never got into trouble. She listened well, talked rather little unless when asked or interrogated, and thus, regardless of her gender and less opposing stature she was well accepted.

None of the other members tried anything funny with her. They sparred with her, said all that was necessary like giving her a very brief map of the fortress, told her where certain facilities were, and that was it. The men never gave out their names, remaining in anonymity even though when off duty they've shown more than just their driven eyes through the slits of their masks.

But then again, the Flame Keeper's Circle was a very traditional and professional organization. It wasn't those petty teenage cliques like the ones the city has. Gwen rather fancied the mechanics of her new environment after she's gotten used to its premise.

It's past five, and she's rejoined Hex after being allowed time to take a quick wash. The two were walking through a screened passage overlooking the extraordinary mountain range.

She didn't feel as sore as she usually was, but that's just probably due to the specific nature of the exercise he had her done prior. It was similar to a gymnastics set, with high bars, a few trapeze swings and several floor beams. She had it in a bag obviously from her childhood interest on it.

Hex had been an oddly thoughtful and patient companion today, tasking her with rather enjoyable things which were in her element.

She didn't have any criticism for the man, even when their conversations went over to her very bitter past life rather than her current studies. He approached the topic in such a direct way, sometimes one would think the man was callous and impervious to anyone's exit wounds, but she knew he was right. He's worked like this for an unimaginably long time now, and it gained the much desired results.

So his style of therapy might've been _abrasive_, but it was definitely productive, and in her judgment, it was enough for her. She didn't need anyone giving her a soft place to land whenever she fell.

"And do you still feel responsible?" Hex asks. It was one of those conversations again, it never seemed to end, always resumed and kept alive.

He doesn't need to elaborate. She knows what he's referring to all too well.

"My _anger_ outweighs my guilt," she answers, her lips pursing then, eyes impassive.

He leads her to an authentically carved door and opens it for the both of them. They enter some kind of a workshop cramped with boxes, shelves and cupboards filled with bottles of chemicals and jars of herbs. She has an idea of what the room is for; either making antidotes or poison.

A few men, already in their ninja outfits were rounding about their business in the room as well. Hex busies himself quickly with her tailing behind. One man assists him by handing out charred crumbs of leaves, which Hex mixes into his concoction of compounds in a small bowl.

From this display and many others she's witnessed, Gwen had already detected that Hex was regarded highly by the disciples of the Flame Keeper's Circle. He must've been a top ranking member, only surpassed by the rule of Spellbinder himself.

He takes a pinch of the powder and throws it down. When it crashes to the panels below them, it explodes loudly. Gwen flinches at the sudden burst of white light and Hex smiles in effect.

"Advanced techniques of Ninjitsu employ explosive powders," he introduced.

"As weapons?" She questioned quizzically.

"Or distractions," he adds and deems, "Theatricality and deception are powerful agents."

Hex extends the bowl to her, as if urging her to try the tool for herself. "To be a great warrior is not enough. Flesh and blood, however skilled, can be destroyed. You must become _more_ than just a man in the minds of your opponents."

Gwen takes this to heart. Without hesitance she takes the powder between her fingers and throws.

* * *

The next day they head out to the third mountain on the monastery's left. At its base was a wide frozen lake, and they utilized the scene for nothing less than the most dangerous game.

Gwen had been given a custom black parka, snow pants and boots for the expedition. Hex was dressed similarly for the severely low climate.

The master and student circle each other on the ice, both holding their swords up, ready to strike.

Hex lunges at her, who deflects the blow using the thick hook projections on the gray gauntlet they both adorned. He releases the pressure and skids to the side, gaining a slight gap between them. He breathes out warm puffs of steam, much like she does. His sword is facing down.

She takes a step towards him, and her foot meets a thin patch of ice which creaks disturbingly, bubbles of water visible underneath. She exhales, feeling fortunate the odds hadn't abruptly ended her battle.

He notifies, "Mind your surrounding. _Always."_

She moved to meet him, her toes light, pummeling the sword at him. Hex blocks her with his own gauntlet. Gwen slips under his arm and dashes in with a short jab as the smoothly curved plane of the sword rams him.

Hex backs off a bit before flipping his arm in a backhand move and catches her sword between the hooks on his glove. The sleek saber is stuck there since Hex tugs upwards, and naturally she's rooted to her spot.

"Your parents' death was not your fault," he begins untimely.

He rotates his arm, wrenching the sword from her grasp and it drifts away on the ice harmlessly. "It was your father's," he looks her dead in the eye when he states this, and she _burns._

Gwen might be without a weapon, but the sharp hooks on her gauntlet would do just fine. She dives in, swinging the jagged edges at him, reckless and furious. "You _don't_ get to talk about my father like that!"

This is the first time she's ever raised her voice to him. And it's only because her father's honor was at stake.

Hex parries with his sword, and they lock in place once more, inches apart from the other. He marks upon her angry breathing. "Anger does not change the fact that your father _failed_ to act."

"The man had a _gun!"_ She countered, almost roaring.

"Would that _stop _you?" He challenged.

She defends heatedly, "It's different, I've had training-"

"The training is _nothing._ It's irrelevant," he lays the truth bare. "The _will _to take control is _everything._ Your father trusted the city, its logic. He had thought he understood the attacker and could simply give him what he wanted."

She calms down a bit, until her breathing is slow enough that it's no longer audible, and she separates herself from him. Hex speaks gently. "He was wrong, and had to get a bullet to the heart to know that. Your father did not understand the forces of decay. Cities like Bellwood are in their death throes, chaotic, grotesque. _Beyond saving."_

"Beyond saving? You really believe that?" She knew her city had become a dystopia, but even _she_ still saw hope, or what little remains of it. It wouldn't be right to just snuff it out, it was so much more than just a single candle in the dark. It was home, and how much hatred she bears for it does not matter now.

Hex's cerulean eyes travel through the landscape around them, a brilliance of white and blue if only for a moment. "It is not right that one must come so far to see the world as it is meant to be. Purity, serenity, solitude - _these_ are the qualities we hold dear. But the important thing is whether _you_ believe it."

She eyes him steadily. He dissected, "Can Bellwood be saved, or is it an ailing ancestor whose time has run?"

Then without warning, Hex slashes at Gwen with his sword. She crosses her arms to shield herself and slides on the slippery ground, going right under him through the space between his legs. She gets across to where her sword lies and picks it up. She lets the weapon twirl by its handle for a firmer grip.

She spins, sweeping the sword to his feet. He jumps to avoid the cut, but she seizes him by the ankle and brings him to drop down on the ice. She thrusts her sword at his throat, stopping inches from Hex's bare neck, triumph found in her green eyes.

_"Yield."_

Hex shakes his head at her edict, a knowing smile on his face. "You haven't beaten me. You've sacrificed sure footing for a killing stroke."

Her hand slackens on her blade from the alarming realization. Hex nimbly taps the ice beneath her feet with his sword, and it instantly gives away.

Before she could even yell, Gwen had already plunged through the surface.

* * *

The evening approaches, a few stars already twinkling in the depths of the cobalt sky. They've trudged out of the lake area earlier as soon as Gwen was able to swim herself out from the hole.

Now both of them on shore, Hex is feeding a small fire using twigs. The girl is sitting across from him, rubbing her arms strenuously against hypothermia. Seldom, she would shoot annoyed glares at her mentor for making her fall into subzero waters.

Hex merely ignores her hostility, not at all engrossed in her unsaid grumbles. "Don't rub your arms, rub your chest. Your arms will take care of themselves."

She supposed he made good sense and obeyed him, creating friction around her torso. She tries to engage in conversation. He'd known so much about her, but she didn't know anything about him other than that he was an experienced fighter and a roundly accomplished tutor in the ways of the Flame Keeper's Circle.

"So I suppose you've been doing this your whole life? Training desperate runaways or anyone of that sense?" She inquires, wanting a story to be told because it was only fair if he shared as well.

Hex doesn't object to her unspoken request. He enlightens her, not vaguely but not in detail either. She reckoned he was not a man of words when it came to his own legacy, much like she is.

"Not my _entire_ life. When I was young, I once had a family."

It doesn't surprise her, that Hex actually had a family at some point. She already had a clue about what probably happened to them. It was presumably something along the lines of being ripped away from the world of the living or the sane, or enslaved to dictators, generally gruesome, ugly fates.

"I had a wife and a younger brother. The first that went was my wife, overtaken by a natural cause. She died in childbirth, and I didn't see a point in raising a son by myself without my great love. I let him go. The baby needed a father, a safe haven, I was a man scorned by the universe."

"What about your brother?" She asks tenderly.

"He was not as lucky as I am. We were both enlisted in the old war, and when our land won, he had gotten greedy and foolish. He died in the hands of the enemy rebels. I would not let his death go in vain though, so I turned here to seek power and I did what I had to do."

"You killed his murderer." It's not a question, but a statement that she utters. Hex nods to this.

Gwen's jaw sets in loathing, maybe at her tormentor, maybe at herself, and her blood tingles in a compelling sensation only recognized as hunger. Hex notices, and the subject changes into what she's been anticipating for. Herself.

"You are one of the most_ impassioned_ individuals I've ever come across. Your strength is born from years of grief and rage. You're disciplined, a fast learner, and your actions are overruled by your emotions. You've admitted that your anger outweighs your guilt, so why haven't you _acted_ on it? _Why_ could you not _avenge_ your parents?"

She doesn't find a reason to lie to him, and confesses truthfully to unconsciously reminisce in contempt. "I was denied my revenge."

* * *

_She's in the passenger seat of the Audi TT, and Ben is driving. In a moment they round up at the front lawn of the manor, before the tires screech as her cousin parked the car._

_She got out, getting to the small luggage in the trunk before Ben does it for her. He tries to not feel rejected and had joked instead, "Gwen, you're going to get man biceps if you don't let me do that for you."_

_"You're talking to the girl who helped you fend off bullies and earned her black belt in karate at age thirteen, so you might want to double think that comment," she replies dryly._

_They both enter the main house, and climbed up the stairs. Ben keeps up with her pace, finding it hard to believe that his cousin could walk that fast in heels. "Will you be heading back to Flintridge tomorrow or could I persuade you to stay an extra night or two? I'm getting lonely you know, watching two a.m. football and doing economy projects by myself."_

_"I'm not heading back at all," Gwen tells him to his surprise. _

_"You don't like it there?"_

_Ben was confused. Flintridge Prep was one of the most prestigious academies in the entire state. Well after Washington International and Newark - both had somehow expelled the female Tennyson in the duration of two months, three months tops.  
_

_It wasn't that Gwen wasn't smart, she was one of the most intelligent teens Ben knew and she participated in co-curricular activities too, but she had a tongue so uncivil that several professors who didn't take well with her and other students, even the ones who tried to befriend her, despised the young lady. Eventually the problems would accumulate, the parents on the board committee would start harassing and the principal would decide. _

_In culmination, Gwen obviously chose to drop out with dignity each time by highlighting the absurdly scandalous amount of money the school won't be receiving without her enrollment, and getting everyone even more pissed in the process._

_It is ironic that Gwen, the one better at academics is the one who'll probably live without a high school degree. Ben was doing just fine at a local polytechnic in his Business and Commerce diploma program._

_The sixteen year old smiles sardonically, her answer revealing too little to Ben's frustration. "I like it fine. They just don't feel the same way."  
_

_When Gwen goes to the direction of her bedroom, Ben halts her. "I called in maid service yesterday. The master bedroom's prepared for you."_

_"My old room will be fine. You sleep in the guest room anyway, take it," she shrugs. _

_"Gwen, I'm going to try to phrase this as respectfully as I can, which isn't much but - your father is dead. He has been for eight years. This place is yours," the brunet explains._

_Her eyes flash and she tries to reel in her temper. Her cousin was one of the few people she didn't like hurting. "No, Ben, this isn't my house. It's an artifact. A reminder of everything I lost. And if I had my way, I'd tear the damn thing down brick by brick-"_

_Ben loses his cool, something which doesn't happen often. "This house, Gwen, has been here for six generations of our family. Hell, Grandpa Max and Grandma Verdona were married here. It stood by you, Gwen, when you're having your incredibly destructive tantrums the first year Uncle Frank and Aunt Natalie passed. And I'm here for you."_

_She looks shameful for a split second, before the remorse is flushed out of her system. "Guess the only thing I'm good at is disappointing people wherever I go."_

_"Gwen, I was with you during the burial. I was with you when you had to go to places you don't want to, like playing China doll at random parties when the board members of the office had to seal new deals and whatnot."_

_"I know," she says, her voice catching. Ben had done so much for her, and she'd done so little in return._

_"Your father was a great man. But I'm confident you'll be even better than him. But that vision can only come true if you want it to."_

_"Haven't give up on me, yet?" The smile is barely there._

_"Never," he promised._

_She opens the door to her bedroom, and at the last second turns back to Ben, feeling it was the right thing to do. "I may not get another chance to properly thank you for all you've done for me, dweeb."_

_Ben's stare is uncomprehending. "Are you going away after the hearing?"_

_"Something like that," and Gwen shuts the door behind her._

* * *

_She tosses the suitcase onto her bed, before inspecting the room. It was the same way as she left it, not a single item misplaced.  
_

_There's a frame on her dresser, she went towards it. _

_The photograph had been taken over a decade ago. Her hair barely grazed her shoulders, with two barrettes pinning her locks to the side, her face still chubby from baby fat. She was four or five at best. She's on her dad's shoulders, her arms folded out to form airplane wings. Her mother is holding Frank's free hand, the one that isn't occupied with balancing the toddler. Her eyes are warm with fondness over the two.  
_

_Gwen felt her mouth curling into a genuine smile. And then it disappears, and she sighs. "I'm sorry. I just can't take it anymore. I've never been good at forgiving."_

_She gingerly turns the picture downwards and leaves it like that._

_The girl strolls back to where her suitcase laid, and clicks the locks. It opens._

_Inside there's a small pile of clothing, a cosmetics kit, a few books, and.. a gun._

* * *

_She goes downstairs after showering and getting dressed in a fresh set of clothes. She enters the kitchen area, to find her boyfriend snacking on a slice of pie. "Made yourself at home, haven't you?"  
_

_Kevin grins, leaving the island to greet her with a kiss. She breathes him in. He smells like cinnamon and gasoline, a flavor she's very much grown accustomed to. _

_They've been dating for over a year now, after a much longer period of friendship. _

_Kevin was an exception to many things for her. Her exception at being happy and affectionate amongst other things._

_"Well I hope I've returned the favor just now, beautiful," he says after they broke apart. She grins. "You're lucky I don't like pie."  
_

_"I'm lucky from a lot of things. Like having a rock star girlfriend who takes no shit from people who step on her. Speak of the devil, how is mission 'escape from crazily expensive and elite private school number three' going?"_

_"It's finished. And I broke my personal best record. One month and twenty-six days. The paperwork just got filed in this morning."  
_

_"Bad girl," Kevin fake chastised. She laughs. "What, you're going to use those handcuffs on me?" _

_It's a joke, well sort of. After Kevin got his GED last year, he's been working a few mechanic jobs, but last March was the real deal. He landed into an open slot at BCPD. In short, he's one of them now. A cop. _

_Sure he had to start at the bottom, but Kevin's boss was without question looking at a diamond in the rough. She'd bet in a year or two, he'd make it up to detective. He's champion material, just like his dad was.  
_

_The context she's using gets twisted into a different kind of implication by him. His gaze is smoldering, mesmerizing, "I can think of a way or two to make it memorable."_

_Gwen blushes, apparently finding the ceramic tiles fascinating to look at. Kevin takes a hold of her chin, raising it to meet his eyes. The light in there isn't playful anymore, it's sober. _

_"Gwen, I don't suppose there's any way I can convince you not to come-"_

_She turns away from him, and isn't as sweet anymore. Here comes her obstinate side, the only part of her Kevin has to make compromise for. "Someone at this proceeding should stand for my parents."_

_"Benji could-"_

_"No, he can't come," her tone is firm, unbending to any influence, just like it should be as the rightful heir to Tennyson Tech._

_He consoles her. "Gwen, we all loved your parents. What Phil did was unforgivable-"_

_She whips back angrily at him, red hair flying over her shoulder. "Then why is your boss letting him go?"_

_His hands land on her waist, hugging her there as if to tame her. "Because in prison he shared a cell with Cash Murray. He learned things and he'll testify in exchange for an early parole."  
_

_"Every word out of his mouth will be nothing but well created lies to get him out from that hell hole. And it's not even hell. He gets three meals a day, a warm bed to sleep on, and a daily walk in the penitentiary. What more epic bullshit are we letting him get away with this time?" She spat out.  
_

_"Nothing more, Gwen. He's released but is on ankle monitor. We got him a pretty permanent place to stay at. He's still caged in prison. Even if it's an unofficial one anyways." Kevin pecks her cheek lovingly, before getting his car keys out of his jeans pocket, heading for the front door.  
_

_Gwen lets him walk past her, remains unaffected by his soothing remedy and out of earshot she mutters, "He'll get away with nothing, alright."_


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Oh, Gwen. Oh, the fandom. You guys should really give me credit more often. I *coughs* need *coughs* your response. Please, for the love of god, spare me a little attention. *sighs* My excuse for this whole fic = I love Batman. I love Gwen. Together, they can blow up shit. The whole effing chapter is a flashback by the way, so there's probably no use for the sentence directly below this note._

* * *

_Italic segments are either flashbacks, personal thoughts, important quotes/statements or emphasized words._

* * *

**When Gwen Tennyson lost her parents at the tender age of eight, she inadvertently sold her soul to avenge them as a knight of justice. [Gwevin]**

* * *

_The car ride was at best torturous. _

_Unwelcoming stillness surrounds them through the duration of the journey. No music, no talking, no nothing. _

_It's such a contrast to the atmosphere they commonly experience in the small room of his dodge challenger. They'd often trade stories, laugh at whatever stupid thing Ben or some other person they knew did, and even got carried away in the backseat a couple of times in the heat of the moment._

_The intensity now present between them isn't a comfort, it felt like the vehicle was going to ignite in flames._

_After they pulled up by the courthouse which was located at the other suburban side of town, Kevin didn't waste any time finding a parking spot by the open basement. _

_Settling in, Kevin pulls the breaks, stopping their mode of transportation. Their seat belts unbuckle shortly._

_She catches his hand before he reached for the door. He faces her. She seems burdened, having kept her words during the long drive, only letting him hear her now. "Kevin, this man killed my parents. I cannot let that pass."_

_He came close to wanting to tell her something, but he could not find any appeal to whatever he had to say. It wouldn't change anything. So he doesn't._

_She senses it, her mouth closing in on itself. She exhales difficultly, "I need you to understand."_

_Something about the way she's pressing for him to not look down upon her is distraught. He gives into her, nodding, although his conscience still disagreed with the immense ill will she has for her parents' shooter._

_She looks relieved at his response, however weak it was. _

_Without further delay, they step out of the car._

* * *

_The trial flows on smoothly, too smoothly. The five personnel on the platform stage and the observers are fair, too fair, their sights set on Phil Cyrus' standing form on the podium like he was something else. Not a criminal, not a monster. Someone worthy of mercy._

_Gwen's sharp green eyes shot daggers at the back of the man's head as if it would burn a hole through it. Nothing happens though and quite oppositely, she's powerless. She felt trapped despite the fact that she was sitting on the second most outer chair of her row, with only Kevin posing as her bridge to the carpeted aisle throughout the length of the courtroom. _

_They, the people of her city are listening, accepting Phil's testimony with the consideration she could never learn to give. _

_Kevin, perceptive as ever, feels the raw tension coming off of her. He gently pulls out her hand which had been tucked underneath her over sized sleeves, and engulfs it with his own._

_It's a habit of hers, wearing her father's coats over her own clothes, even in public and he never minds. _

_He too held something of his father's securely at all times which had been his wedding ring, a plain gold band he never takes off, so he's untitled to judge. _

_He doesn't need to ask which one from her pop's memorabilia collection is she wearing now, he already knows. It's the one from the night he died, along with the rest of her childhood. _

_She doesn't withdraw, letting his touch stay on her. She needed it, him, his anesthesia, as much as she didn't want to admit it._

_Kevin's boss, Captain Kwarrel, a respectable, no-nonsense man addresses the panel. _

_"Given the exemplary record of Mr. Cyrus, the eight years already served accordingly and his extraordinary level of cooperation with one of the city's most important investigations - we strongly endorse Mr. Cyrus' petition for early release."_

_He sounded sickeningly neutral, or even pro for Phil's freedom to the redhead's ear. Truth be told, the Captain disliked the felon but over his thirst to bring down Cash Murray, a nasty shark compared to Cyrus' sardine bait complex, the move was worth it. _

_Gwen clenches her jaw when the chairman nods and consults his paperwork. He finishes in a bit, before his eyes scan the crowd, "I gather a member of the Tennyson family is here with us today.."_

_Phil reacts to this, his feet accommodating him to confront the subject. She studies his weathered face, committing it to memory. She won't ever forget him. _

_"Does she have anything to say?" The chairman adjured authoritatively._

_Phil notices the young woman's eyes on him, the way they penetrate through his soul. He could not fight the urge to look away, just like all those years ago when she was just a small defenseless girl in that alley, and so he did._

_Without another word, Gwen mutely removes the hand enveloping hers and boldly stands, turning many if not all heads at once. The audience are no longer oblivious to her presence, clearly overlooking her from all angles with unease._

_She walks out on all of them. Including Kevin._

* * *

_She stands next to the car, preparing herself. Her final thoughts on her decision is solid. Backing down isn't an option._

_"Serves him right. The bastard doesn't deserve to live," she cussed under her breath. The Colt gun is in her hand which shakes feebly, not from fright or turmoil but fiery wanting instead. It's wrong, but it felt so right._

_The exit doors breaks open, and two cops come out accompanying Phil who's guarded in their middle. A large, crazed group of people, pressmen from the media mostly crushed them the moment they emerged from the front, eager to keep their wages._

_"Cyrus, any words for the Tennyson family?" Grills a random male reporter with the standard photographer camera on his neck and notepad, his voice shrill that even Gwen was able to hear him clearly from a distance._

_Phil, with his head hung low, declined to answer, simply shuffling forward in the tight crowd that forms a wall around him. _

_Even with the barrier, Gwen straightens and breathes, before she starts walking towards him, her steps purposeful. A reporter spots her. _

_"It's Gwen Tennyson!" He shouts, alerting everyone of her approaching figure. They clear a path for her, royally, unabashedly wishing for a showdown._

_A blonde woman cuts in, and she calls, "Phil! Hey Phil!"_

_It was Jennifer Nocturne. She's a small time but well liked up-and-coming journalist, bubbly, ditzy, hot and pretty much the type for live television broadcast._

_Gwen's hand tightens around her pistol. She's inching forward, feeling her chest is becoming even more constricted as the seconds ticked by. She gathered there was no opening, and she grows weary that her hope was quickly but surely disappearing._

_What Jennifer says next paralyzes her. "Cash Murray says hi!"_

_The journalist slash assassin pokes out her own gun at the man's chest and fires. Phil staggers, tips and falls. Dead._

_Time seemed to be at a standstill. And then reporters swarmed for cover, the cops jumped on Nocturne, effectively pinning her._

_Fifteen feet away, with a loaded gun hidden up her sleeve, Gwen was motionless. She was as pallid as the night Phil killed her parents._

_Kevin arrives from out of nowhere. He grabs her by the upper arms protectively and steers her away, whispering, "Come on, Gwen. We don't need to see this."_

_"But I do," she murmurs quietly._

* * *

_It's late._

_Kevin is on the wheel, stealing side glances at the girl next to him. She's burrowed in the leather seat, hands on her lap, her eyes distant._

_His worry wins above anything else, and he pulls over the curb and shifts his focus to her. Just her. "Are you okay?"_

_She still stares into nowhere. "All these years I wanted to kill him. Now he's gone. Now I can't."_

_"You don't mean that," he reassures, fingers treading over her wrist's skin. _

_She's hanging on something dark, that's unfortunately real, and unlatches from him as if singed by fire. "What if I do, Kevin? Phil killed my parents. They deserved justice."_

_Kevin's eyes widen, before they shrink back, and he scowls. "You're not talking about justice, you're talking about revenge."_

_"Sometimes they're the same," she doesn't lose her grip on her standpoint._

_"No. They're never the same, Gwen! Justice is about harmony. Revenge is about making yourself feel better. Don't you get it? That's why we have an impartial system-"_

_"Well your system is broken!" She lashes out, and at this point, Kevin revs the engine and they sped off into the street on a violent course. Oh, he was mad._

_"Don't you tell me the system's broken, Gwen! I'm out here everyday busting my ass trying to fix it while you mope around in your grief as an excuse to do nothing! You've got billions, Gwen, and what do you do with them? Trash boarding schools all over the U.S.? Purge everything but the Prada in your wardrobe? What?!"_

_The lecture gets him out of breath, and the one whom it was directed to only frowned, making no noise. He continues, wanting to get the message through her thick skull. _

_"You take everything for granted. Your money, your home, the people who care about you. Look at Ben for instance. He could've returned to Carl and Sandra in Houston, but he chose you because he cared too much. He doesn't bother to visit for the summer like normal cousins would and instead practically lives at your house, goes to a school in your city. You're not even here half of the time, too busy for yourself, and I'm not saying you treat him like a dog, but you don't treat him well enough. Not like the way he did you."_

_"I never asked him to be there for me."_

_"You shouldn't have to. That's what families do," Kevin shakes his head in disappointment at her claim, and he adds, "And that's what you should do. Be grateful."_

_His voice lowers down, still raspy but not as enraged as before. "You've been hurt, Gwen. I get that. But it's time to let go."_

_"I can't," she doesn't give it a chance, and he loses it, stepping harder on the gas pedal. As if it were even possible, they roamed through the road even faster._

_It's either a talent or a curse that Kevin is above getting speeding tickets now due to his occupation. _

_His coal eyes dug through hers, and he hisses, "You want justice? I'll show you what really needs justice."_

* * *

_The car's rubber tires were obviously abused on the lane's corner as Kevin stopped their ride in the most extreme way known to man, almost bashing onto a ramp._

_They're on the freeway, and Kevin exits the car, she follows, both of them coming to its front._

_She knows they're in the bad part of town, not as worse as the Narrows, but bad enough. It's seedy, filthy, and threatening. People get by on strictly illicit protocols. He gestures to the area around them. "Look beyond your own pain, Gwen."_

_"Easy for you to say," she had the gull to make the rude comment, headstrong on it too._

_"What?" Kevin's brow is furrowed, his tone that of a flat kind of shock._

_"You don't know how I feel. You can't pretend to know how I feel." Flashes of her parents' memorial came to her mind, when she thought he was the only one who could understand, and now, after eight years of waiting, she's proven wrong. He's just another one of them. He'll never know her._

_"You just took it over the line, Gwen. I know how it's like to lose someone. I lost my dad just a year ago, in case you forgot."_

_She cringes. "I know you know death and loss. But you don't know them the way I do."_

_Kevin could not speak, and she does it in his place, she doesn't sound like she intends on offending him, only letting out soft spoken facts. "Your father died on a sick bed from kidney failure, and you had three months to say goodbye to him. His last days were filled with you, being all grown up and your mother. It's sad, and you'll always mourn for him every time someone from the department tells you that you're just like him. Noble, unselfish, amazing."_

_She could recall his kind, fatherly gesture to her involving the very same coat hugging her now during that night her life changed. She gives out her side of the story. "My father died on a circumstance I'd never come to expect let alone be ready for. I watched him as the life drained from his eyes, as blood seeped through his clothes, and I cradled him there until the police sirens wailed and they got to me. I grew up believing nothing good ever stays permanent because something as vital to me as my dad was stolen from me, snatched by some thug. My father's death isn't sad, it's a turning point for me."_

_Kevin feels chills up his spine, never has Gwen talked about her father's death in such agony. "And what happened?" He finds himself afraid of what she'll divulge next, and he has every right to be._

_"All that love I had for him, it doesn't just go away, gone like him, it becomes hate. Hate for the world. And hate is the only thing keeping me alive. That's why I can't let go."_

_He bleeds for her, he really does, but his lawful core outweighs his compassion. "You are blind to everything around you. This city is rotting. And Phil is not the cause, he's an effect. Corruption is killing Bellwood and Phil being dead doesn't help that. It makes it worse because Murray walks. He carries on flooding our city with crime and drugs, creating new Phil Cyrus' every day. Cash Murray may not have killed your parents, Gwen, but he's destroying everything they stood for!"_

_Kevin looks to the club, a building or two ahead from them and her line of vision follows. He indicates, "They all know where to find him. But no one will touch him because he keeps the bad people rich and the good people scared."_

_He looks rueful, "And what chance does our city have when the good people do nothing?"_

_He meant her, he trusted her abilities, he knew she was capable of great things. Gwen takes a step backward, barely noticeable, but Kevin doesn't miss it. _

_It's only apathy that she can produce, and she doesn't live up to her potential, the vibrant emerald in her irises invisible. She said tersely, "I'm not one of your 'good people', Kevin. Phil took that away from me."_

_He's on edge, incredulity written at her. "What do you mean?"_

_Gwen dips her hand into her pocket, and displays the gun for him, held in her hand confidently. An incredible mix of shock and devastation ran through Kevin's features. _

_"I was going to kill him myself."_

_Kevin doesn't last more than three seconds before he blows up. Needless to say, he's livid. He doesn't hit her, he'll never be able to hit her, but he does punch the hood of his car. It dents upon impact._

_His skin is flushed in the moonlight, from emotional exertion rather than anything else. She thinks there are tears glimmering in his eyes, and it would mark the second time he's shed any in front of her. He never saw her cry._

_"You're no better than the rest," he growls. He points to the gun, and then drowns her jade eyes with his. "Your father would be ashamed of you."_

_He opens the door to his car, stares long and hard at her - because after the ride home, they were over._

* * *

_She doesn't climb in with him, and she lets him go, in high velocity, abandoning her in a few short minutes. There's no goodbye or anything._

_She strolls to the side of the street, inspecting the line of ships currently docking at the harbor. She advanced near to the waters, and takes out her gun. She turns it around and over in her hand, acknowledging the various different ways light could reflect off the cool metal._

_And her subconscious travel back to that one moment, her eyes seeing another plane of reality, of the past she's endured. _

_The barrel of Phil's gun trembles, inches from her father's chest. She hears the gunshot, her heart pounding, and she is awake._

_With a cry of outrage barely suppressed in her lungs, she flings the gun with as much strength she could summon. It sinks deep and far into the ocean._

* * *

_The bouncer at the raunchy club denies her entry, even though he was practically dismantling her layers with his eyes. "Sorry Missie, unless I get an ID that says you're over twenty-one you can't make extra buck in here. Wait a couple of years, they'll like you better."_

_She scoffs. Of course they'd assume she was one of those. Her eyes flicker with exasperation, and a little bit of impatience. The bouncer looked like he wanted to throw her off the porch. "Look little lady, the rules here are inflexible and-"_

_She pulls out a massive wad of cash, dividing it in two. She offers half to him, holding it out for him to take, and shoves the rest into her pocket. He swallows thickly, his pep talk discontinued._

_"The other half is yours when you give me the nod that Cash Murray's leaving. Unawares," she states the order for the pay. _

_He looks at her oddly, and takes the money._

* * *

_She spies at the club's entrance, lurking from beneath the shadows._

_Two imposing men, obviously protection security, escorts a relatively good-looking young man with dark gelled hair and eyes. Cash Murray. He was lean under the business suit, but she didn't underestimate him one bit. She knew of the astoundingly cruel deeds he took part in, led, and orchestrated even._

_"Good night, Sir Murray."_

_And that was her signal. They move towards the limo and she races to them, lightning fast. One bodyguard takes a kick to the head and goes down. Another goes for his gun but she grabs his arm to make him shoot falsely to the open skies, chops at his throat and judo flips him. _

_When she's done, she pivots to him and Cash observes her, eyes trailing from head to toe. "So you're the spoiled dolled up brat. No gun? I'm insulted."_

_He fakes a wound to the heart. And suddenly the first man is back on his feet, slashing his knife at her, she ducks, sweeping his legs out from under him. He hits the pavement, and she kicks him in the head with potent force. He's down for good._

_She regards his boss, her boot sending the fallen knife clattering to his feet, "I don't need a gun."_

_Cash smirks, "Yes, you do."_

_A clicking sound, and indeed one gun is pressed next to her head, ready to splatter her brains. It was the bouncer. Her hands balled into fists._

_"Money isn't power down here, sweetheart. Fear is." The mob boss circles her. "It's funny, seeing you just now.. you don't seem like the type to go bawling for mommy and daddy."_

_"Rot in hell-" she gags then when the bouncer pistol whips her, hard. She crumbles down. The money is dropped back to her. She glares at it, and then at the man in charge. _

_"You should've just sent me a thank you note," he sneers at her flair for dramatics, finding it to be a nuisance. Gwen spits out blood, and gets up standing, neck to neck with him. "I didn't come here to say thank you. I came to show you that not everyone in Bellwood is afraid of you."_

_Cash chuckles arrogantly, "Just those that know me. You've got guts, love." Then his eyes darken into abyss, "But you don't belong here with us. We don't play fair. Now go back to your big house, wrap yourself in your silk sheets and I'll send you a shoulder to cry on."_

_"No thanks," she's just as sharp with her insults. "You don't dress well enough to be a pimp anyway. I'd rather fly to Hollywood to get nicer shit than what you have."_

_Cash snorts, before he flares, baring his teeth at her. "I'll tell you what.. You miss your mommy and daddy? Come down here again one more time, and I'll send you to them. And it's a good thing you're pretty too because I'll be able to make money doing that." _

_Their eyes clash for a moment, before Cash twists away and strides to his limo, his goons behind him. They ditch her._

_She walks the docks, hands in her pockets, her gait heavy. Three youths approach her direction, and she glowers, having thought she might have to put up another fight, but they cross over the street instead to avoid her._

_Their cowardice was perplexing. There's a man's voice behind her. "No one will mess with ya'."_

_She turns around to see him. He was homeless indefinitely like most people who wanders around the district, his physical and probably intellectual presentation revolting. He's probably in his fifties, out of his prime, lanky and wrinkled skin atop bones. There's no semblance of any of the pristine of Bellwood on him. _

_He huddles around a flaming oil drum, trying to warm himself through the night. Pathetic. _

_He doesn't mind her responsiveness or the lack of it, and keeps on talking._

_"Wander 'round here dressed like that, means you've got something to prove." He scans her get-up, the way she holds herself, the despise shining in her eyes and is despondent. "One with something to prove is dangerous."_

_It hits her like a ton of bricks. That was it. She had a lot to prove. And it could be done, starting this very moment._

_She takes a roll of bills, offers it to him. It's clear that he's probably never seen that much money, especially in the situation when it was being handed to him. "For what?" He asks._

_"Your jacket," she answers simply to his astonishment. She then tosses her whole wallet into the fire, and another fistful of cash or two. And she's out, nothing left in her pockets. _

_The man laughs momentarily, obviously impressed from her craziness, he probably thought she was a lunatic. But he silences as even he knew lunatics weren't like that. Like her. Forlorn and forsaken._

_She takes out her phone and smashes it onto the concrete, breaking the delicate thing into pieces, the small screen shattered beyond repair. She leaves it there, maybe someone could sell it off as scraps._

_"You got a wife?" She questions him out of the blue, and he nods languidly. She entangles a jewel cross pendant from her neck and lets it hover in front of him. "Take it," she says._

_He does, and thinks he's dreaming. The necklace was the good stuff, real diamonds on a silver chain. He didn't know exactly how much it was worth, but it's definitely plenty. Unknown to him, it was a paragon, her mother's and it was priceless._

_She pulls off her coat, a man's coat he notes, and bundles it, ready to be thrown into the pit. He stops her, "Lemme have it. It's a good coat."_

_She gives him the coat, and he'd removed his own. They trade._

_Gwen slips on the common man's jacket, an odd smell of ash and cheap cologne invading her nostrils. She whiffs a little bit more of the aroma, forcing herself to be used to its blight._

_He tries on her jacket, which was now his, delighted at the quality material. She warns him, her voice strangely mystifying. "Be careful who sees you with that. They're going to come looking for me."_

_"Who?" He looks puzzled._

_A furtive smile graces her lips. "Everyone."_

_Gwen, now looking less conspicuous, moves towards the stack of containers on the docks. A horn sounds and her eyes caught sight of the merchant boat preparing to leave the bay._

_She starts sprinting._


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: This chapter was so fun to write. I rather liked it. Do you (and not just the chapter but the whole story in general)? Let me know. Reviews = love.  
_

* * *

_Italic segments are either flashbacks, personal thoughts, important quotes/statements or emphasized words._

* * *

**When Gwen Tennyson lost her parents at the tender age of eight, she inadvertently sold her soul to avenge them as a knight of justice. [Gwevin]**

* * *

"And when you left Bellwood.."

Hex jumps onto a stone wall, holding on by his hands through the short spears used to puncture the column while the soles of his feet are digging against the rock to stay in place.

The exercise was like rock climbing, except without the cables and vest, no protection at all and they used their bare hands, with the aid of some variety of sharp pike weapons and feet to ascend. Slipping from a height would positively result in injury. Sure it wasn't deadly, but a few bones would have to be cracked.

The obstacle extended to the room's tall ceiling, fifty-something feet high, where they would find an open glass roof on the top which will serve as their exit.

"What were you seeking?" Hex doesn't check on her, and continues to scale upwards. She watches him, her eyes set on his motions, copying his tactics. "To lose myself. I couldn't do anything as Gwen Tennyson. As everyone said," _or as Kevin said_, she annotates, "I'm useless. And I think it's true."

Hex shifts to view her, before going back to his safer position, his back turned on her. For a moment, he assesses the long trek ahead. "Perhaps you can beat my record," he suggests.

She gets this determined look in her eyes, and goes for it. Estimating her running speed towards the wall, she leaps with the optimum momentum. And for a second or two she's in the air, the adrenaline making her heart soar in her chest. She lands, using her own pair of dual spears, gripping higher than that of her own mentor's altitude.

She looks downwards to Hex, asking confidently, "How long?"

He smiles slyly, and she knew something was up. He reveals to her chagrin, "Two days."

Gwen blows a few strands of red sideways, as she couldn't use her fingers to pull them to the back of her ear.

Hex informs her contently, "The test is not to see how quickly you can climb, but how slowly. The ninja is thought invisible, but invisibility is largely a matter of patience."

"Right," she mumbles, not at all enthused, and does not comment on it any further. She better regulate her energy wisely to last holding up her weight on the contraption.

Hex reaches up for another handhold, catching up to her level, taking his time while doing so. He makes the best of their situation, and reverts to talking, picking up where they left off. "On your journey, you sought knowledge of the criminal world?"

And maybe it was the best choice, as Gwen could see that queer silence would only make this not so enjoyable assignment all the more intolerable. She nods and replies, "I needed to understand the thoughts and feelings of those who stand in the shadows."

She springs, swinging one spear at a time and pierces them through the wall to her right, supporting herself on a different part of the boulder. Hex approves her course of action, she was learning the ropes well.

Moving sideways would buy time, as well as help her muscles to flex and relax. Yet it does not risk coming into new heights, though eventually going up would be mandatory.

A collection of memories takes her somewhere else, far away from here.

_She's in a busy baked mud street, hustling through the crowded port town's market. Her hair is stuffed in a newsboy's hat, to avoid attracting attention. It works, and she flawlessly picks up several dried fruits from a sales basket, leaving no one aware of their absence. _

She shares to Hex, "I remember being forced to steal for the first time, in order to not starve.."

_And later on that very same day, she hides behind an old cart, eating what she stole. She spots a child in torn, dusty rags staring. He couldn't be older than six, skinny as a twig. She hands the fruits to him. _

"Without meaning to, you lose many assumptions about the simple nature of right and wrong."

_She repeated the violation more times than she could count afterwards, never feeling all that troubled for it. Sure it was a Robin Hood complex, partially of morale, but shouldn't it had at least shaken her beliefs? Waver them a little?_

_It didn't. She felt justified somehow._

"I needed to feel the fear before a crime.."

_She remembers being in London, England's capital. She was with an accomplice, an old man, and they con a rich-looking fellow. A businessman no doubt. They engineer a collision, the old man bumps into him and trips. She enters the scene, and helps them both get to their feet._

"And the thrill of success.."

_While unguarded, she sneaks out the wallet from his suit pocket. The man goes on his way, ignorant. She shows her partner the wallet for consent. Then she hurries along after the businessman._

"Without becoming one of them."

_She catches the businessman, gives him the wallet, beaming modestly. The sir thanks her, and noticing her apparent poverty, hands her a banknote. She thanks him politely in return, and he went, unsuspecting of the thief who just pick-pocketed him._

"I thought I would find something.."

_Still in Europe, she had lessons, that is if you would call them lessons – on the art of breaking and entering. She managed to master how to break codes on locks, open safes, infiltrate high security locations and so on._

_Months later in Shanghai, she had imprudently spent a night leaning low on the arches of a warehouse, inspecting whatever shady activity was being conducted below. She didn't regret it, as she saw a lot of things that night which provided insight._

_A table of Chinese bosses who were in reality criminals, bandits, and thieves with their employees – drank themselves wasted. They laughed, boasted at their own exploits, stating them in graphic terms. Gwen didn't need much of her imagination then._

"I thought I would learn what I needed to do with my skills and my anger.."

_In broad daylight, a truck races through the narrow street and unable to find a route, ultimately breaks apart the garage doors of a building, before skidding to a stop. A taxi full of passengers arrives and parks itself nearby._

_She and several others jumped out of the cab which they've hot-wired initially for a joyride, then to chase the larger vehicle until it crash coursed. _

_They yank the doors of the truck open, and began unloading the shipment._

"But the harder I looked the less I saw. And the less I knew.."

"_Where's this friend of yours?" She demands from their leader at that time, who wasn't that much older than she was. He was a renegade, just like everyone else on their team._

_He shrugs, and appears to be careless. "Not a friend," he corrects her. "Friend of friend."_

_She rolls her eyes at her current boss. Her intuition tells her the whole thing won't wrap up well if their third party, in other words - uncharted distributor, didn't show up soon._

"Until I wasn't even sure what I'd been looking for in the first place.."

_And she's right. In a moment, cops storm the scene, shouting in Mandarin. The escapade is pretty much over then._

_Twenty minutes later, the cops got to inventory, piling up the boxes they pulled out and then some._

"And I was _lost."_

_She's sitting in the line of criminals. Her hands are cuffed behind her back, same as the others._

_One cop harshly pulls her by the elbow, sending her to an officer. She doesn't stumble much to their surprise and aggravation. They didn't know it, but she wasn't just some clumsy girl or a damsel in distress. In fact if they paid attention, the girl didn't even look nervous._

_The cop speaks to his colleague, the conversation taking place in their native tongue. "She refuses to give her name."_

_She understood them perfectly, a fact unknown to them. The officer with the fuller uniform looks down ominously upon her, mustering a chivalrously condescending tone. "Fool. This is China, you're a criminal – what the hell do I care what your name is?"_

_She replies in fluent Mandarin, stunning him. "I'm not a criminal."_

_He waves her away, looks at the truck and talks back in accented English. "Tell that to the guys who owned these!"_

_He kicks a sealed cardboard box to her comrades' way. She zooms in on the logo, two large capital T's. _

_Tennyson Tech._

_Gwen snorts. They had no idea._

It's dawn, and she lost track of time of how long they were there.

They're both clinging to the wall just short of the roof, eyes interlocked with each other. They're both hot, drenched in sweat, and in short – struggling.

Hex blinks, and he chuckles, signifying his defeat. He reaches for the panel and vaults himself up the roof.

Though exhausted, Gwen closes her eyes in relief. _Finally._

She takes his hand when he offers, and lets him help her up. They lie there, bathed in the half light of the rising horizon.

Hex lays a hand on her shoulder, looking proud. "You are ready," he deems.

And for the first time in a long while, she grins.

* * *

Night comes.

Her blue poppy is shriveled and dried on the throne room's altar.

She's wearing the black warrior's uniform and observes Hex, whom is also in black. He takes the flower, takes a pestle and mortar, and grinds the wilted bud to dust.

He pours the dust into a small urn, and lights it.

He motions for her to come closer and she did, approaching the altar slightly warily. He holds out the burnt dust in the urn to her. He instructs, "Drink in your fears. Face them."

She breathes the smoke. Its effects takes place quickly and she shakes her head in reaction. Images are planted in her mind. They make her heart beat faster.

_Phil's gun is pointed at her family._

_She's falling through the dark well._

_Frank being shot at, before collapsing to the ground._

These episodes are brief and foggy, and they vanish quickly. The imprints, however, doesn't leave as easily. Her mind is clouded, and her thought process becomes altered.

"Why the masks?" She asks, unable to believe her voice sounded whole. Strong.

Drowsily, she slips on her own mask.

In an answer, dozens of warriors step forward into the light and the hall is filled with identical ninjas. Hex has weaved his way into the group, now unseen.

Gwen keeps her eyes peeled.

Though Hex's voice reverberates through the throng of people, she still couldn't point him out. "To conquer fear, you must _become_ fear. You must bask in the fear of other men. And men fear most what they cannot see-"

A figure in black, Hex, strikes at her mid-sentence. She detects it at the last second, spins around to meet his blade. The sound of metal against metal rings in her ears.

Then suddenly, Hex is gone, having melted into the wall of soldiers who covered him in unison. She maneuvers through the maze of bodies cautiously.

Hex's voice apprises calmly, "It is not enough to be a man. You have to become an idea. A terrible thought, a wraith."

The man nearest to Gwen, Hex in truth, slashed without warning. She dives into the warriors' line, hiding if only for a moment.

She looks at her forearm. The uniform is torn there, exposing milk white skin below the fabric. Gwen grumbles, the cut tips her off, it was a complete dead giveaway.

She stands low, bracing herself for any sort of stunt that may follow.

The ninjas part, as if a sea of black was dividing, allowing a meager passage. Straight ahead, by the altar, the objects were replaced by a single wooden chest.

She stares at it, her head still reeling a bit from the poppy's smoke.

"Face your fear," he commands curtly.

She approaches the box, lifts the lid and just as she peers inside, bats explode from it and fills the air. Gwen scrambles away, flinching from the sight of the shrieking animals.

Hex attacks from an angle she could not predict, and Gwen could only dodge, rolling farther from him before lifting her sword to block. When she gets up to confront him, Hex was missing yet again.

The fleet of bats sweep through her vicinity and she hunches downwards to avoid them. Then she takes deep breaths, and started to think.

Hex is somewhere within this mass of warriors, maintaining a certain distance from her though negligible. He knows just how to reach her, somehow he knows how to tell her apart at the most abrupt moment. If she kept on doing what she was doing, at this rate she'd only be meat for his infliction.

She had to beat him at his own game.

And so she set her ideas into motion, not wanting to lose anymore time. She slithers close to a fellow ninja, and silently slashes his arm, recreating a trait of hers Hex surely could not dismiss when locating her.

The warrior doesn't move, standing solidly in his post and this benefits her.

She disappears discreetly, but keeps a sensible panorama over her trap.

One man paces softly through the crowd, Hex, who went past her, duped. He tells her, "Become one with the darkness.."

Accurate to her expectation, Hex goes for the warrior she's cut, the ripped sleeve catching his eye immediately. Hex knocks the man to his knees and forces his sword against his throat.

"You cannot leave any sign.." He sounds evidently disappointed, and it's confirmed when he takes off his mask – he's frowning.

He thought she failed.

But she didn't.

"I haven't," she says smoothly, and Hex feels the cold metal behind his neck. She had him.

Gwen stood, holding her mentor at knife point, unmasking herself with her free hand, long red hair spilling down her back.

Hex twists around to regard his surroundings. Seeing several of the ninjas around them had their sleeves slit, he smiles.

All the warriors turns to one direction and kneels in unison, making the pair stand out.

There's a distinct noise of clapping from above. At the upper levels, Spellbinder had witnessed the whole final test. He descends from the staircase, and stands on the platform stage, awaiting Hex and her.

She walked forward as her teacher led, a step or two ahead than her. A ninja pushes a wheeled tray between them, implying their cue to be still.

On the tray laid a few items; a very small cup filled with dark liquid which came from a glass jug also balanced there and a single burning candle.

Hex hands both the candle and cup to her and she takes them in her hands carefully. Spellbinder started to speak, and Hex serves as a bridge for her comprehension. "We have purged your fear. You are ready to lead these men. You are ready to become a member of the Flame Keeper's Circle. Drink up."

She tips the small glass, and the black liquid runs through her throat as she gulped it in one go. It was much stronger than cognac, and Gwen blinks from the aftertaste.

Spellbinder coughs and Hex proceeds her initiation. "By blowing out this candle you will renounce your mortal life. You renounce forever the cities of man. You dedicate your life to solitude."

Gwen blows the candle, rests it on the tray the same way she had with her cup, and pauses. She took a short glimpse into the rows of warriors kneeling behind her. She turns to Hex, questioning, "Where will I be leading these men?"

"You will need them in Bellwood," he reveals.

She's skeptical. "You want me to go back to _Bellwood?"_

Rather than Hex who supposedly should answer her, Spellbinder's voice clarifies, in perfect English dialect. "You are a victim of Bellwood's decay. That is why you came here, hunted this experience, and that is why you must go back. You should be _craving_ this, the right we're passing down to you. You will assume the mantle of your birthright. As Bellwood's favored daughter, you will be ideally placed-"

_"For what?"_ She interrupts him. Screw respect, she knew this was leading into something she couldn't handle. The Flame Keeper's Circle, a league of justice? All a rotten lie by misinterpretation. It was just a cult of assassins.

"To _remodel_ Bellwood," Spellbinder's phrase perturbs her. They wanted her to betray Bellwood, when all she wanted to do was to put it back to its former glory, make it some place worth living if she ever returned.

She spares him a distrustful glance. "You mean _destroy_ it. And letting me learn your ways, your doctrine – that's all just because I'm some golden key to your plan? You feed me with these visions of making my city rise above bad blood when all you wanted me to do was _kill _innocent people, the entire populous, all along?!"

Spellbinder doesn't nod, but he might as well have. Hex lays a tentative hand on her shoulder, the look in his eyes gently stating that insubordination would be ill-advised. She came so far already she'd throw away everything if she denies her obligation.

"You are a victim. You deserve to take vengeance for your kind. People who were hurt, people who were scarred," he encourages her.

Gwen shakes her head. "You forgot one thing. My vengeance was over the moment the man who shot my parents dropped dead, years longer before I found you."

"There is a bigger picture than your own vendetta. You are a symbol of restoration. You can make Bellwood fall, you can scrape the city clean. Start anew," Hex explains.

"No," she declines. "There _is_ another way to fix Bellwood. Where mass murder doesn't need to be the solution."

A flash of anger in violet orbs, and Hex berates her. "You haven't learned a thing. In fact, you're no better than your father. He was a coward and look at where it got him! A death coming twenty years too early that he never even saw you grow up. You enemies, the killer you cannot execute – they will _never_ possess such a fatal virtue. They will never change, and you need to _stop_ fooling yourself that you can walk the sinless hero's path. _Open your eyes!"_

"I get it, _okay?_ Mercy is a novelty," she admits miserably.

Hex hollers, "Among your enemies, mercy is _nonexistent!"_

"You can't believe in this," Gwen's voice is oddly faint. "You know what it's like to lose the people you love, you must've realized that causing that kind of future for someone else is like giving them an eternity of _hell."_

Hex pleads to her, indicating that it was the last straw of their bargain. "Pity will get you nowhere, Gwendolyn. Spellbinder has rescued you from the darkest corner of your heart, and what he asks of you in debt is your obedience. And the _courage_ to do what is necessary."

Gwen thinks quickly, using the things around her to her advantage. She flicks out her sword from its sheath on her hip and smashes the glass jug, spilling the contents. She kicks the tray, and tips the flickering candle. It sparks, and catches on fire as it comes in contact with the liquid. Flames spread across the wooden floor.

Hex is shocked, and attempts to extinguish the flames in a hectic fashion. He glares at her, "What are you doing?!"

_"What's necessary,"_ she echoes his words, and rendered him unconscious when she strikes him with full power on the back of his head with the hilt of her sword. The other soldiers are occupied with keeping their fortress from burning down, trying to oust the raging fire, unsuccessfully so, and no one interferes when Spellbinder charged her way, armed with his own sword with every intention of stabbing her.

She parries, and counters each strike with her own, as everything sets ablaze. Heat escalates rapidly into stages of inferno, and flaming debris fall all around them as they fought.

Gwen feints a blow to Spellbinder's side, before drawing a sharp instep kick which sends him backpedaling. The arcs above him give out and went crushing down to apprehend him, and she clears out of the way with a handspring, bearing the splinters on the floor which are inevitable to evade.

She finds that the other members of the clan aren't faring well either, there were many of their bodies strewn around the mess hall, while some are in the process of fleeing as a last resort, their house demolished.

She spots Hex lying face down, limp and helpless but to inhale the fumes and be susceptible to any element that may become his undoing.

She picks him up, and carries him slung over her shoulder, her hand minding his lower back. She smashes through the ornate screen of the balcony as the doors were blocked with a torrent of shrapnel.

Gwen grunts when they land, crashing on the snow covered slope which was by no means soft or comfortable. She rolls onto her stomach, and grabs onto a rock to level herself on the steep terrain.

She looks to see Hex, still unconscious, sliding through the ice. His body rotates, and angles where it gains momentum, and he rushed faster towards the edge of the cliff.

She's alarmed, and then her body acts before her mind even processes anything.

Hex was a part of something evil, but that doesn't mean he's evil, not entirely. He was her teacher, and she really did know him. He had good inside of him, and that was all she needed to know to want to sacrifice her own safety to rescue him.

She hurls herself head-first after him. The cliff is coming closer and closer, but so is Hex.

She grabs him by the wrist at the peak of the fall, only a foot or two later and they would've been gone. Simultaneously, her other hand, the one that wasn't holding Hex's weight latched onto another rock, conveniently stationed there.

But her luck was dying out.

A half scream tore through her lips, she felt like her arms were snapping from being stretched to such extremes. She took deep breaths, knowing both her palms were becoming excruciatingly hot from friction, but she must not let Hex, who's hanging over a tremendous drop to death's doom, slip from her fingertips.

_Focus_, she breathes. It takes every fiber of her being to accomplish this next task; heave him up onto the ice. She wheezing by the time she's done so.

She checks his pulse, finding that it was steady, and sighs gratefully.

* * *

She has him sprawled on her back as she made her way down the mountain.

With the deadweight as a responsibility, agreeably the direction she was heading for was down and not up.

She gets to the village shortly based on sheer motivation, and she kicks open the first door of the nearest hut. Coincidentally, it was the old man who denied her request for temporary refuge nor food, the barest of her necessities at that time during her climb.

He clearly remembers her, the recognition plainly visible in his expression. He allows her inside his home.

After beckoning her to lay down her passed out companion on some mats, Gwen did exactly just that. She then slumped against the wall, breathing heavily, her eyes trained on the two.

The old man attends to Hex, wiping the blood from his temple with a washcloth.

Gwen knew she'd done her part. With some effort, she made her way towards the door, but just as before she went, the old man makes her stop in her tracks, telling her, "I will tell him you saved his life."

She deciphers the look on his face as respect. She replies, motioning towards Hex's form, "Tell him I have.. an ailing ancestor who needs me."

The elderly man gives her the affirmative nod.

Gwen joins her hands together in a formal salute and bows.

She leaves.


End file.
